When in India
by Orlissa
Summary: After an easy mission in India, the team enjoys the hospitality of the local Maharajah, while Skye and Grant find the place rather... Inspiring. My fourth submission for the Skyeward Smut Fest. Sort of.
**A/N:** This was supposed to be my fourth entry for the Skyeward Smut Fest, but I got stuck with it – so after a while, since I reached a natural breaking point in the story, I decided to break it up into two parts and publish the first just to show that I'm alive. I hope you'll enjoy it, and I swear I'll deliver the second part (the actual smut) as soon as I can. (And really, you are welcome to find me on Tumblr and come to brainstorm with about the smut part, because I _really_ am stuck with it.)
 **Rated:** M (this chapter is a T)  
 **Word Count:** 2189  
 **Disclaimer:** [Insert funny text here that tells you I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.]

* * *

 **When in India…**

 **Part One**

Grant already felt like suffocating when he did the last button on his dress shirt, but gritted his teeth, and with his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed – resigning to his _fate_ – he reached for his tie.

There were only a few crueler things than having to wear a full suit in the humid Indian heat, but if one was to dine at the Maharajah's table, he had to look the part.

He sighed, laying the tie on his neck, under the upturned collar. It had started out as such a simple mission – it was just the dismantling of an illegal genetics lab, and the local authorities had even done the lion's share of job – they had already detained the staff of the lab by the time Coulson's team got there –, and they had been just called in because the lab had suspected ties to Centipede. It was basically a no-huff, no-sweat job, where technically all he had to do was to stand guard while Skye searched the main server, and Fitz and Simmons made an inventory of the stuff they had found in the lab. So the promise of returning to the States within twelve hours hung there in the air up until the point when – just as Skye was about to announce that she was done with the server – Coulson got a call.

Apparently the local Maharajah (and he used this term loosely – the man had no actual political power and royal title behind him, not anymore, only tradition and an obscene amount of money) had heard about them arriving at his land and was so _grateful_ for the work they had done, he decided to invite the whole team to his estate – for a dinner, for a night, or for however long they could stay. And Coulson, after a quick check, of course (the guy was clean, Skye stated, and even a _bit of an Avengers-fanboy_ – her actual words), accepted the invitation in the name of the whole team.

Which Grant admittedly wasn't all that thrilled about – partly because it required him to wear a full suit in the heat, and partly because he had had enough of the senseless, snobbish display of wealth as a child.

Still, an order was an order, so he put on a poker face and tied his tie, yanking the end through the knot with a little bit more force than actually necessary.

"Wow," he heard then from behind his back, from the direction of the door (her voice made him smile). "Aren't you a little tense?" Skye asked, a teasing edge in her voice.

He turned around, ready to make a not-too-pleasant comment on the situation, but as soon as his gaze fell on her, the words died on his lips. She looked simply… _wow._

"Cat got your tongue, Agent Ward?" she chuckled, raising a hand and partially covering her mouth with it – almost shyly – as she stepped into his room.

"No, it's just–" He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "You look amazing. Breathtaking, really."

She was wearing a sari – deep purple, edged and embroidered in gold with intricate patterns, the material swung over her left shoulder, her right left completely bare. The color complemented her skin beautifully, while the golden hem brought out the golden tones in her hair, which hung down her back free in glossy waves. She was an absolute vision.

"You like it?" she asked, delighted, as she stepped closer to him, then she twirled around for him, the bottom of the skirt billowing out slightly around her feet. "It was a gift from his highness."

His face fell right away. "I see."

"Oh, don't be so sour," she chided him as she stood right in front of him, raised herself to the tip of her toes, and kissed him lightly on the lips. "It'd take a lot more than a fancy dress to make me switch you for another model. And anyway, Simmons got one as well. May, too, I guess."

He actually smirked at hearing that, resting his forehead against hers.

"So no need for me to challenge _his royal highness_ on a duel to win you over?"

She pulled back from him, looking into his eyes, slightly confused, but amused none the less.

"Do they even do duels in India?" she asked.

"I don't know," he replied, chuckling slightly, then pulled her to him once again, attacking her lips – she was just too beautiful to resist –, to which she answered with sliding her hands into his hair and opening her mouth, inviting him in. But then, just as he was about to take things a little further – stupid obligations to be damned –, she broke the kiss.

"Whoa," she breathed, "I appreciate the enthusiasm, but – dinner? People waiting for us? You know, people like our boss and a guy with enough money to buy a smaller state?"

He whined – he actually _whined_ – like a petulant child, on the verge of saying _I don't wanna_ , burying his face in her bared shoulder. Really, all he wanted to do was to forget all about the dinner and hide out here with her until at least the next morning (it had been already too long since their little, way-too-short escapade in that bungalow), worshipping her body.

He felt her body gently shake as she chuckled.

"Sometimes," she started, gently pushing him away, "I really think I've broken you. Fried your circuits, got a bug into your software." She looked up at him, then frowned. "You really are planning coming down like that?"

He blinked at her, slightly confused. "What do you mean?" He looked down at himself, inspecting his attire – dress shoes, dark slacks, white shirt, his tie still untightened; he didn't see any problem with this look (he even checked, somewhat unconsciously, his groin area, and no, he wasn't in any kind of… _apparent and embarrassing_ situation that she could have referred to).

"Aren't you a little… hot under the collar?" she smirked at her own joke, then raised her hands to his neck. "Come here, let me." He tried to resist, albeit weakly, but in the end he let her slip the tie off his neck and toss it aside. "Isn't it better?"

True, he felt less like being suffocated right away, but his stupid, instilled sense of decorum was still screaming at him.

"I don't think–"

"Oh, hush," she cut in, undoing the top button of his shirt. Then she paused, tilted her head to the side as if deep in thought, and then undid another. "I doubt the maharajah will mind. A doubt _anybody_ will mind. And you are almost done, anyway." With that, she reached for his wrist – he obediently lifted it for her –, undid his cuff and rolled up his sleeve to his elbow, then repeated the process with his other arm. "Now you are perfect," she stated, taking a step back and looking up at him. It actually made him chuckle.

"Really?"

"Really," she nodded and took his hand. "Now come along, let's not be late. But…" she stopped, pushed herself to the tip of her toes, and whispered into his ear, "if you play nice, I'll help you take off more clothes after dinner. You know, this place is really… inspiring."

And with that she let go of his hand and stepped out of the room, expecting him to follow. And he did, even if with a moment of delay, suddenly feeling hot and flustered once again.

* * *

Dinner was pure torture.

Well, to be fair, it was a rather pleasant affair. Skye was proved to be right – no-one batted an eye at his lack of tie and jacket. Actually, it was just Coulson, sitting on the Maharajah's right, who hadn't forgone the full suit; Fitz was somewhat similarly dressed as him, in linen pants and a light colored shirt, while Simmons, just like Skye, had a sari on, only hers was green. May, even if she had been gifted one as well as Skye had suspected, decided against wearing it – but she did wrap an elaborately decorated shawl around her shoulders. Even the food was great – and, despite Skye's overplayed fears, they were not served live snakes and frozen monkey brain (he had told her it was not _Indiana Jones_ , to which she stuck her tongue out at him) –, and the conversation flowed seamlessly.

Fifteen minutes in, Grant had a feeling that Skye's statement that the Maharajah was a _bit_ of an Avengers fanboy was a slight understatement – mostly all he wanted to hear, once he learned that Coulson had used to babysit the heroes, was anecdotes about them, and when they had run out of that, he was content with the tales of their everyday lives on the Bus – strictly sticking to non-confidential topics (Grant had to give it to him, he didn't insist on knowing what he wasn't supposed to). And Skye, as always, proved what an enchanting creature she was, recalling to his highness the story of her recruitment to S.H.I.E.L.D., focusing on their little "truth serum" fueled heart-to-heart in the cage – all the while sneaking glances at him, licking her lips.

And that's where the problems started.

They were sat along a long table, with the Maharajah on the head of the table, the men on his right, the women on his left. Coulson, being the leader of their team, was offered the place of honor on the Maharajah's right, opposite of May, with Grant on his right. Fitz and Simmons brought up the rear, while Skye sat directly across the table from him.

Which was simply cruel. She was always, always in the line of his sight – something she was very well aware of –, but she was out of reach. If she at least sat by him, he could have discretely take her hand under the table, or just rest his palm against her knee – or maybe slid his hand a little further up, because, God, he was sure that's what she would have done (thinking it through, maybe it is a good thing she was out of reach).

She kept stealing him _those_ kind of glances; the ones that said she knew how he looked naked ( _of course she knew_ ) and wanted him in that way, right then (which, after a point, he wouldn't have been against that much, audience to be damned, to be honest). And she kept licking her lips. And smirking. And playing with her hair – something she knew drove him crazy.

And she _was_ driving him crazy – he could feel the room getting increasingly hotter as time wore on, not to mention that with every passing minute, he had a harder and harder time following the conversation – especially when he was preoccupied with watching her drew her spoon into her mouth and moan softly –, so that one point he even blatantly missed that he was being talked to.

"Agent Ward?" the Maharajah said (probably repeated), slightly leaning forward in his seat looking at him. Still, it took Grant a while not just to realize that he had been addressed, but also that an answer was expected from him.

"I am sorry," he blinked. "I just… it's really delicious," he tried to save face, gesturing towards his plate – which he hadn't touched in about a minute. "What were you saying, your highness?"

Thankfully, the Maharajah was mild-mannered enough – was in a too good mood – to be offended by his wandering attention, and simply smiled at him and repeated the question. "I was just hearing about your… _adventures_ around the globe, and wondered if, during your travels under the agency's aegis, have you ever ridden an elephant?"

Grant chuckled and shook his head.

"No, your highness – truth to be told, I prefer motorized vehicles," he answered. "It means less mess. And a car is less suspicious on the streets of Berlin than an elephant."

This won the Maharajah over, who threw his head back, laughing.

"I won't contradict you on that!" he agreed, chuckling. "Still, would you like to try?"

"Try what?" he blinked.

"Ride an elephant, of course!" the Maharajah beamed. "I have a bit of a… _menagerie_ , if I can say so, and I'd be happy to show it to you tomorrow, all of you, if you can stay for another day – the offer stands to every one of you, of course."

"That would be—" he started, but Fitz cut in.

"Do you have monkeys? I'd love to see them…"

"And snakes? The venoms of the snakes native to this area have the most fascinating properties…" joined Simmons to the conversation, speaking at the same time with Fitz and Coulson, who tried to graciously accept the Maharajah's offer, creating a bit of a chaos of voices, in which Grant barely caught what Skye was saying.

"It sounds great – you know, I've always loved _riding_ ," she said, looking right into his eyes at the last word, making it no secret what she meant.

He almost choked on his food.

Really, he couldn't wait for this dinner to end.


End file.
